


How it Happened

by Cherry_Coco_Berry



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Burns, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Scars, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:24:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry_Coco_Berry/pseuds/Cherry_Coco_Berry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically what happened before, during, and after the movie - my version.</p><p>He was so worried that they would reject him, after all, he was just a worthless spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack Frost

He didn't mean to, he swears! How was he supposed to know that his powers responded to his emotions? He had been alive for only fifty six years. Reading? He couldn't read what people called "numbers" and "letters", they swam in front of his eyes.

He knew the humans had something called a calender and that it told what day, month, and year it was. He knew that they had days for celebrating and days for mourning, he just didn't bother to learn them. What he did know of however, were the guardians.

The Guardians were the greatest heroes of all time, they protected children and were  _seen!_ There was Santa Clause, the jolly fat man who brought presents to all of the good children; guardian of wonder. The Tooth Fairy, a beautiful woman covered in feathers who collected the teeth of children and kept them safe: guardian of memories. The Easter Bunny, the tall rabbit - man who delivered chocolate eggs to the small children of the world; guardian of hope and new life, beginnings. Then there was the Sandman. Sandy, the only one who acknowledged that he was  _there_  and  _real_ and  _notinvisible,pleasedon'tletmebeinvisible._ The cheerful little golden man of sand who kept dreams alive in small humans. When he saw the rabbit-man heading toward him that day, he had thought that he might make a friend. That had not been the case.

To say that the bunny was angry was an understatement. He was furious. Jack didn't know what he had done wrong, all he had done was get excited and accidentally cause a blizzard. He had no idea of why the Easter Bunny was mad at him.

"Ya bloody show pony! Look at what ya did!"

"I-"

"All you seas'nal spirits are greedy, causin' storms on peoples holidays!"

"What are you-?"

"Nobody  _needs ya_ you bloody-!"

"Bunny-Man!"

The Easter spirit blinked,  _Bunny-Man,_ he thought,  _did he call me Bunny-man?_

"What are you talking about?" the boy asked quietly.

Rabbit-man's fury seemed to have re-ignited with his question, leaving him to listen as he was told what he did wrong.

"It's  _Easter Sunday_ ya gumby! Don't tell me ya didn't know, your type likes ta cause trouble an' but in where you're not needed. An' tha's ev'rywhere! 'Cause of you an' your selfishness, Easter's ruined!" The Easter Bunny- having finished with shouting- created a tunnel and vanished, leaving a teary-eyed frost spirit alone in the snow.

Honestly, he had no idea that it was Easter. That must have been what all the calenders said. Tears leaked from his eyes, freezing as they hit soft snow and shattering.

He ran, and ran, and ran until he appeared at his lake. Dropping his staff in the snow, he headed toward the lakes center.

If anyone had cared to believe or cared to look, they would have seen a boy with white hair curled in a ball. If they had cared to  _pleasejustonce,evenonlyonce_ look closer, they would have seen how he was sobbing and begging to know why he was here and  _hejustmadeamessofeverythingdidn'the_? He clutched his head, he had to keep out the voices,  _nononodon'tleavemealoneplease._ They were telling him how worthless and  _youalwaysmakeamessofeverythingyoustupidboy._

It had been Easter Sunday, 1768.


	2. Longing

Most knew that Jack Frost was a loner and a trickster, most hated him for one reason or other. Even Jack Frost himself hated the winter child. Let it never be said that he is always happy and content to cause mischief because it isn't true.

He walks alone because no one is willing to walk with him. He plays pranks to hide the pain he feels inside. Jack Frost may be the wielder of cold, but he longs to be warm. Other spirits believe he sleeps in a cave in Antarctica when, in reality, he sleeps in a cooling fire pit attempting to feel heat. People believe Jack Frost likes the cold because he is  _supposed_ to like the cold. It isn't  _natural_ for someone to long for their opposite, but he does.

If Jack Frost had a choice, he wouldn't be alive (but is he really?). If Jack Frost had a choice, he wouldn't spend every night longing for a family and a warm meal. If Jack Frost had a choice, he would be dead.

He tried thousands upon thousands of times to die; he impaled himself, he slit his throat, he even jumped off a cliff onto wooden spikes he had painstakingly set up. Everything he tried did nothing to him. It would heal in time, leaving a painful scar that would never go away.

If anybody really knew Jack Frost, his heart would't be in pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have... forgotten.. in my last few fics that I don't own ROTG. Better late than never I guess.  
> I don't own ROTG, only my plot and computer.


	3. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jack's birthday and it seems that something may finally go his way. Or not.

It was his birthday and he was turning one hundred. It would be much better though if he had someone to celebrate it with. He couldn't even make a wish because he had no cake. Actually, he hadn't had any food since a spirit named Rose Summers caught him stealing from a rich man's house. That's when all of the nasty rumors had started.

He was a thief, he was being punished for a horrible deed he had done as a human, he was evil. Soon though, those rumors turned more sinister after he had told Rose that he had never been human. She had spread the word and it had caused fear and hatred to grow in their hearts for the frost boy. After that, he was a demon. A child-murdering, vengeful spirit trapped as a boy. Once people realized that others felt the same about him, they became public with their hatred. They would attack him in groups, leaving bruises, burns, and broken bones. After this, Jack became surprisingly good at the art of healing, at least, for a "child killer" This had temporarily stopped them until Rose and her sister May had told them it was a trick, an awful lie.

The only spirit Jack had never seen attack him was the head summer spirit, only his lesser summer sprites hurt him. The worst pain he had endured during these one-sided fights was when a summer sprite branded him. It would have been painful for anyone, but to a winter spirit it was torture. By the end of that day, he had "worthless" branded onto his stomach. That had been a year ago.

Today, he was just trying not to jostle his new injuries. He had been caught by surprise that morning and it caused him to gain a few broken ribs. He carefully took another step and winced before collapsing in a heap on the ground. Black spots danced before his eyes and he realized that he must have a concussion as well. He took a deep breath and the movement sent him under the blanket of unconsciousness.

* * *

 

Even though it was daylight, he walked through the forest. He had heard a commotion near his lair that had disrupted the little peace he had and he wanted to know what had happened.

When he came across the frozen lake, he saw spots of red littering the ground and began to worry. He may not like children very much, but this seemed like to much blood for someone to lose and still be alright. His leisurely pace picked up and, once a fair amount of distance had passed, it had turned into a flat-out run. The trail seemed to  go on forever and it didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

By the time the drops had gotten closer together and the trail was nearing its end, it was already evening. He had only just made it to the top of a short hill when he spotted a mop of shockingly white hair laying in pool of brilliant red blood.

He rushed forward and the figure gasped in pain as he was lifted into the mans arms. He felt a tug at his heart as the young boy curled up on himself himself in Pitch's arms, like a frightened child would with their parent. The man walked over to the nearest shadow and disappeared, taking the boy with him.

* * *

 

When he woke up, all he could see was darkness. It was like when he first awoke, but this time there wasn't the warm glow of the moon to comfort him. He whimpered and curled in a tight ball, shivering in fear until he heard the creak of a door opening nearby. The sound was so familiar, even in such a terrifying place, that he took comfort from it. At least, he did until he saw two glowing golden eyes peering at him from the doorway.

He whirled around and tried to find his staff, the pain in his chest only a minor hindrance. It would heal and he had had worse before. A small weight on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. The creature's hand was more of a comforting weight than not, so he decided to trust his instincts, they had never steered him wrong before. It must have sensed the tension leave his body, because it ceased the gentle murmurings that had become a background noise. It had calmed him, the mans voice. He sounded like a father calming his son, like someone who knew how scared and flighty he really was. Moving slowly as not to upset his obviously punctured lung, he turned around and came face-to-grey skinned chest with the man.

His first thought was that wow, he's  _tall_. His second thought was _'W_ _ho the_ _HELL is he?!'_

He was unlike any man or sprite he had ever seen, and that was saying something. His skin was a grey that was not unlike like the color of a smoker's lung with eyes that shone with an eerie golden light. His clothes--Jack thought that it rather resembled a dress--seemed as if they were made of pure shadows, writhing and swirling like a vortex. He though that, if he concentrated enough on the fabric, he could hear shrieks of terror and a deep demonic laughter. What Jack thought was the strangest wasn't his clothes, skin, or eyes, but his eyebrows. Or, he should say, was his lack there of. The winter child had to admit though, he looked good enough without them.

The stranger pushed him gently onto the bed, telling him that he shouldn't move because his lung was punctured by a broke rib. As if he didn't already know that, thank you very much. Jack told him so and the man seemed surprised, whether it was from his snark or the fact he knew that his lung had a gaping hole in it he wasn't sure. The man's expression turned haughty and he spun on his heel and walked out the door. It closed with a slam and then, seconds later, a click.

Jack groaned, this was just  _great._


End file.
